


The Nefarious Zone

by Blue_Five



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Suits AU: Mr. & Mrs. Smith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU - Domestic bliss can be hell on a marriage.





	The Nefarious Zone

Michael Smith eases himself into one of the Overman-style chairs set just so in the therapist's office. He crosses his legs casually, right over left. In fact, he makes absolutely certain that the entirety of his body language is nothing _but_ casual. Mike glances over at the man - his husband - beside him, resplendent as usual in a dark gray-green three-piece suit. Per the norm, no thread is foolish enough to be out of place. Mike's eyes dart over the ensemble anyway, looking for flaws; as if aware of the attention, there's a quick flurry of movement to straighten a pant crease and tug a shirt sleeve down below the suit cuff. Perfection achieved. Mike doesn't look past the perfectly knotted tie. He knows the jawline and latte eyes by heart. For a brief second, Mike imagines kissing the dark mole just over Harvey's left eyebrow and then his husband crosses his legs -- exactly opposite of Mike's. The move is deliberate because Harvey does nothing randomly. The subtle defiance is something that's infiltrated every part of their marriage these days and Mike's beyond fucking tired of it.

* * *

Harvey Smith hates the color of the chairs. Hell, he hates nearly every piece of furniture in the room. Too many muted neutrals make the entire palette of the décor blend together. It's boring.

He sees Mike's surveillance out of the corner of his eye. Although he hates himself a little for doing it, Harvey mentally runs down everything he put on this morning and creates a mental picture of himself. A few adjustments and, there, he's perfect. When Mike's eyes stop at his collar, however, Harvey feels an all-too-familiar twing of failure and decides that two can play at this game ... he crosses his legs opposite of Mike's. The kid might think he's subtle but his criticism resound loudly in Harvey's mind. He internally smirks when he sees a faint tension in the leanly muscled arms. 

Ah, those arms. Harvey briefly entertains a memory of looking at Mike's arms in the early morning light. Soft blonde hairs that rose in response to Harvey gently blowing on them ... Mike's entire body responds like that to whisper touches and once upon the time, Harvey truly reveled in playing his husband's body like a treasured instrument. Right. Once upon a time ... funny how a fairytale always ends.

* * *

"Ok, umm, I'll go first, I guess." Mike clears his throat before continuing. "Let me say that, um, we don't really need to be here."

Harvey smiles warmly at the therapist. He suggested this to Mike even though going to _any_ sort of counseling is so far outside Harvey's own comfort zone he feels like he needs a passport. Mike had done the usual avoidance and attempt to change the topic but eventually he'd agreed in the flat voice he reserves for battles he just doesn't want to fight. Now it looks like Mike's going to just 'deal' until he can find a reason to not come any longer. Harvey's smile and gaze slip to the knee of his bespoke suit. 

"See, we've been married five years."

Harvey blinks and looks up at the therapist. "Six," he corrects. His face feels like it's going to freeze permanently into the embarrassed smile at his husband's error.

Mike doesn't even miss a beat. "Five ... six years." He makes a conciliatory gesture implying his own mistake before moving on. "This is like a checkup for us. Um, a chance to poke around the engine, maybe change the oil, replace a seal or two."

"Exactly," Harvey agrees.

 _'Change the oil'_? Harvey mentally derides his husband's choice of words. Mike can't even manage that in real life and now he wants to apply car analogies to their marriage? He fights not to clench his fingers on the -- what the hell fabric did they use on these chairs anyway -- armrest.

"Very well, then," the therapist offers. "Let's pop the hood -- on a scale of one to ten, how happy are you as a couple."

Harvey immediately says, "Eight."

Harvey's good at his job. He wastes no time analyzing a situation and making decisions accordingly. And once he's made a decision, he rarely backs down. Mike, however ... Harvey lets his eyes shut ever so briefly with a faint sigh when he hears his husband balk.

"Wait ... ten being perfectly happy and one being totally miserable or --?"

"Just respond instinctively."

Harvey uses a slight shifting of position to keep himself from snickering. Mike's instincts are about as finely honed as a sponge. The kid's a fucking genius at working through problems to a solution but his response time is ... yeah.

Mike sees Harvey settle beside him. He doesn't let himself react to the dig. Harvey moves through life like a hot knife through butter. He doesn't pause, he doesn't concern himself with collateral damage, he just _does_. Mike, however, likes to know the plan. He'll jump in as easily as the next guy but there's a part of him that gets immense satisfaction when things go as planned based on the data. He's a nerd. He gets it. His brain goes about a thousand miles a minute because he's trying to gather information before he says anything ... before he commits. Like now. He glances over at Harvey who keeps his gaze on the therapist.

"Ready?"

Harvey nods.

"Eight." They reply together.

The counselor makes a note and looks up again. "How often do you have sex?"

* * *

Harvey Smith doesn't often falter but the question takes him unawares even though he should have absolutely expected it. He blinks and opens his mouth to respond but what he says isn't exactly what he had in his mind.

"I don't understand the question."

Mike, apparently, is also pole-axed by the inquiry because he immediately falls back on his data-collecting methods. 

"Uh, yeah ... I'm lost," Mike agrees. "Is this a one-to-10 thing?"

Harvey's brain feels like it's short-circuited. He's flailing for some way to answer the therapist without having to face the one thing in all this that actually brings him pain.

Harvey frowns at the counselor. "I think Mike means is one very little ... or is one nothing? Because tech-technically speaking, um, zero would be nothing."

Mike is a little thrown by how hard Harvey is trying to avoid this question but he gets it. He doesn't want to answer either -- doesn't want anyone to know how bad it's gotten but Harvey _asked_ for this and Mike ... well, Mike has rarely been able to turn down a sincere request from Harvey. 

"That's right," Mike gives a brisk nod in Harvey's direction. "If we don't know what one is -- what's 10?"

"Because then 10 is --" Harvey chuckles weakly. "Well, then ten would be ... constant ..."

Mike swallows hard. "Unrelenting."

Harvey shifts uncomfortably. "N-not stopping for -- I mean, just ..."

"Nothing to eat."

Harvey feels lightheaded. "Like Sting."

It's so incongruous Mike wonders if the therapist thinks they're psychologically unbalanced but he shakes his head and stares at Harvey.

"Sting? Look at his day job! Who else has 60 hours a week to put into the sack?"

Harvey doesn't return his husband's glare. He didn't mean to compare their dismal lack of a sex life to the former Police lead singer's tantric escapades but there is was, lying out there for Mike to dismiss as always. Grand.

"It's not a one-to-10 scenario," the counselor clarifies. "It's just a basic question. How often do you have sex? This week, for example."

"Including the weekend?"

Harvey stares out the window and wishes he were anywhere but here. He doesn't immediately register the therapist's next question.

"Describe how you first met."

* * *

Mike sees the tight line of Harvey's arm relax and finds himself sinking back into the warm memories of their initial meeting as his husband's baritone voice responds.

"It was in Colombia."

Mike feels the corners of his mouth twitch. "Bogota. Five years ago."

"Six," Harvey corrects quietly.

* * *

_**FIVE OR SIX YEARS AGO ...** _

Mike sits at the hotel bar reading some trash novel he picked up at the airport. He hears the wail of sirens and random explosions outside but he doesn't react to it. Only when he takes a long drink from his beer does Mike really register that voices far more strident than any hotel staff are beginning to rise in volume. Looking around he sees police coming into the lobby. A great many police. It's concerning but Mike doesn't reveal that. Instead he turns to the bartender and asks what's going on in Spanish.

\Someone shot _the b_ _arracuda_ ,\ the man replies. \They are looking for tourists traveling alone.\

Ah, that explains it. Mentally, Mike begins to gather data. He already knows the layout of the hotel and the city so an escape plan can be considered if necessary. What he needs to know now is if he can avoid being taken into custody for 'questioning'.

A sharp-eyed officer notices Mike sitting alone at the bar and immediately begins to approach. He asks if Mike is alone. Mike feigns difficulty in understanding while his brain whirls desperately, seeking a way out when suddenly something eclipses everything and Mike can't even be bothered to respond to the increasingly demanding voice of the officer.

A tall, dark-haired man has just honest-to-God _strolled_ into the hotel lobby. He barely looks bothered by the way the police have pushed their way into his personal space. If Mike wasn't all too aware of the 'military conflict' happening just outside the glass doors, he'd swear this guy was just out for a walk before dinner.

The crisp linen shirt and pants the man's wearing barely look wrinkled. Classic round-frame Ray-Bans hide the newcomer's eyes until the slow pan of the space brings his gaze to Mike. Then they slide down his nose just enough to show Mike the luscious latte-colored eyes assessing him. Mike leans back against the bar and returns the scrutiny but he's already made up his mind. He waits a minute more and then pushes out from his barstool to cross the lobby.

The man moves toward Mike but a policeman suddenly grips his arm. The man pauses at the angrily barked Spanish.

\Senor! I asked, are you traveling alone?!\

The look the man levels on the officer has the other man releasing his arm. Eyes narrowed, he removes his sunglasses and neatly tucks them in his shirt pocket.

\And I told _you_ that _no_ , I am not alone. Keep your hands to yourself.\

Mike moves in then, voice raised and affronted. \Hey! Hands off! He's with me! See? He's with me!\

Together, arms around one another's waists, the two conspirators walk off to Mike's room. Mike spares a glare at one of the officers that follow them but once the door is shut he breathes out a long sigh of relief. The man presses an ear to the door but offers his hand to Mike.

"Harvey."

"Mike ... nice to meet you, Harvey."

Harvey gives a firm shake and grins as an explosion shakes more dust down on them. "Nice to meet you too, Mike. You hungry?"

"Starving."

* * *

Dinner consists of grilled fish and fresh fruit. The conversation is nearly non-existent but for some reason this doesn't feel uncomfortable. Mike tries not to drink much but when Harvey pours them both a tequila shot, Mike takes it without hesitation.

"To dodging bullets," Harvey says softly.

Mike studies the dark gaze and smiles. "To dodging bullets."

Harvey grins. Their shot glasses clink and Mike throws back his tequila. He stares at Harvey, wanting to commit every line to memory. He knows there's a heat building between them and it's making Mike feel like he's about to dive off a cliff. Normally, that would make him balk and run because he doesn't do anything on _feelings_ or _hunches_ , yet right now in this moment Mike doesn't give a fuck what the world around him is up to -- he just wants to spend every second life gives him with Harvey. Or at least one night. It's been a long while since he was with a man but Mike thinks he'll gladly be celibate and forsake the female race if only God will hear his prayers and let him share this one glorious moment with Harvey.

* * *

Harvey never bothers to overthink his sexual partners. Women, men ... it doesn't matter so long as everyone wants the same thing and no one gets hurt. It's always been easy because Harvey is a closer. His job consists of reading the room and determining the best way to reach the endgame without any undue complications and it doesn't take much to adapt that strategy to one-night stands.

Mike wants Harvey, that much the older man is sure of. He doesn't miss the lingering looks but Harvey notices that lust isn't really a part of the way Mike is cataloging everything that happens between them as they order dinner and drinks. Mike is _memorizing_ Harvey. Normally, fifty-thousand red flags would have gone off by now but somehow Harvey just knows he's not being cased. Mike is trying to capture every detail because he's head over already and nothing's even happened yet. It's endearing and Harvey finds himself sucked right into Mike's orbit. The dark blonde hair, the blue eyes, the gosh and golly excitement at everything around them -- Harvey wants to see that expression on Mike's face when he shows him exactly what his body is capable of experiencing. Mike's attracted and Harvey thinks the kid's been with men before but obviously he's never been with anyone like Harvey. 

With a faint smirk, Harvey takes his refilled shot glass and moves out into the open space.

"Not much of a talker, kid ... how are you at dancing?"

Harvey lets the easy beat of the song drift over and through him while he lets the tequila burn down his throat and tosses the glass away. Mike sits for a second with his mouth open before he makes his way to Harvey's side. It's a pleasant surprise for Harvey when Mike's hands find his hips. It's an even better surprise when Mike guide's Harvey's hands to his own hips as well. Together, they begin to sway and shift to the music. It's easy, so easy to just let the lyrics and melody melt into their very frames like the tequila.

Harvey sees Mike's blue eyes darken like the sky before a storm and he dips down to taste the hollow of Mike's throat. He smiles at the faint gasp but then slender, strong fingers are tipping his chin up and Mike is kissing him. Harvey groans softly because he'd taken Mike's age as meaning he'd be willing to let Harvey take the lead. Mike just showed him he can find his own way thank you very much and Harvey's just fine with that. In fact, he's so fine he's pulling Mike to him and the skies overhead release their downpour.

* * *

He's kissing Harvey. He's fucking _kissing Harvey_. Mike can't think of anything more miraculous and five minutes ago he thought just dancing with the man was heaven's prayers answered.

Harvey suddenly shifts them against one another and Mike feels a thrill race up his spine at what that means. For the first time in his life, Mike's with someone willing to _share_ the control. Someone who will let Mike take what he wants and repay the respect by taking his own pleasure. It's something Mike's yearned for in a sexual partner and, saints be praised, he's got it within his grasp. He doesn't even register the rain until Harvey's grabbed the tequila bottle in one hand and Mike's hand in the other. Together they slip-slide to the hotel and fall into the room.

Harvey locks the door behind him and takes a large drink of the tequila. Mike's on him a second later and there's a surprised moment when Harvey releases the alcohol into the younger man's mouth. Mike takes it in stride, however and sucks it down easily, swallowing and creating a luscious pressure on Harvey's tongue.

"Fuck, kid ... you're incredible ..."

Mike's lips are kiss-swollen and his gaze is darkly predatory. Harvey kicks off his shoes and pulls his shirt off. He walks into the bedroom without looking back, knowing Mike will follow. He puts the bottle on the beside table and is about to hook his waistband to pull off his pants when a pair of hands stops him.

"Allow me, gorgeous."

Mike's voice is rough from arousal and the tequila. Harvey's eyes slide shut and he just _feels_. Mike pulls the linen trousers down, pausing only to drag his tongue into the dip above Harvey's ass just at the base of his spine. Harvey sucks in a breath and obediently steps out of his clothes.

Mike's hands dance and slide everywhere over Harvey's exposed skin. He sees scars but now isn't the time to examine them. Mike quickly divests himself of his own clothes and presses against Harvey. His cock slides into Harvey's cleft easily. 

Harvey usually tops but his body has other ideas tonight. He can't think of anything he'd rather feel than Mike buried deep inside him. Harvey reaches back to grip Mike's hip and pull him closer. He lets his head fall back on Mike's shoulder and they share an awkwardly angled kiss. It's perfect for all that.

"Let me ... my bag ..."

Mike has manhandled Harvey around and the older man feels his control slipping. It's not as frightening as he once imagined. But Mike is up suddenly and his quick hands locate the lube in Harvey's bag before he's returning to lay them both down. Mike lets the bottle drop to the coverlet and he stretches out beside Harvey. 

"Want you, Harvey."

The faintest of breezes would have knocked Harvey right off the bed as he sees the earnest desire in Mike's eyes. The kid wants him but more than that -- he wants Harvey to own him. He doesn't bother to double-check Mike's intent and the soft moan his nod brings out of the younger man has Harvey hard and ready. He lays Mike back and surveys what he sees.

 _Glorious,_ Harvey thinks. _Absolutely glorious._


End file.
